Wall Street (The Poem)

Wall Street, a place of cons and schemes,
And fortunes built on doctored dreams,
And fees and spreads and in-bred cronies,
I counted fifteen thousand phonies.

The SEC patrols these parts,
Whose tortured ways it maps and charts,
With num’rous rules, it seeks to beat,
White collar crimes that ‘fest The Street.
But really, guys, what kind of rules
Could cleanse this gilded nest of fools?